Bubbles
by Alaidh
Summary: This is in response to a challenge from a friend of mine. A silly little unshippery fic. ML


**Disclaimer: ** AAHhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!  HEEEE!!!!!!!  Ah....whew....sigh...I don't own anything.

**Title**: Bubbles

**Author: ** Alaidh

**Rating:**  PG-13

  
**Episode Reference:** Early Season 1

**A/N:** This is in response to a challenge from Denise N. Rodier.  She asked me to write a nonshippy fic where Max and Logan end up in a bubble bath together.  I had earlier asked her not to disturb the bubbles in my head.  She did, so you can blame her for this.

Many thanks to my superbeta catherder.

BTW, this is my first fic.

Bubbles 

Max sighed as she hauled a drunken Logan into her apartment.  She had never seen him get like this before. He had gone out with some old college buddies of his and obviously no longer knew his limits.  He was very plastered.  She had found him sprawled in the gutter while she was on a run.  He was passed out, very wet, and very dirty.  Logan had obviously been trying to wheel himself home, being too drunk to drive.  

Looking around to see if anyone was watching, she had thrown him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, gotten on her bike, and raced back to her place, figuring he wouldn't want anyone in his posh apartment seeing him in this condition.

"What am I going to do with you?" she sighed to herself,  "I certainly can't leave you in those wet clothes.  You'll freeze to death."

Reluctantly, she carried him into her bathroom, laid him on the tile floor, and started filling her tub.  The battered old water heater was on its last legs and Max wasn't sure how long it would hold out but, for now, it seemed to be doing its job.

Max looked at Logan.  How on earth was she going to get him cleaned up and warm without stripping him naked?  She knew Logan would never forgive her if she did that. With yet another sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that she would at least have to strip him of his jeans, sweater and shoes, so she set about the task, trying not to think about what he might do if he woke up and took this the wrong way.  

When the tub was filled, Max lifted Logan, clad only in a pair of boxers, and lowered him into the steaming water.  There must have been some residual soap in the tub, left from her last bubble bath, because the water was covered in big sudsy bubbles.  "Logan really will take this the wrong way if he wakes up and sees this!" thought Max worriedly.  

Just as that thought entered her head, Logan's eyes flew open.  He thrashed around in the bathtub, looking around, trying to figure out where he was.  He had long since lost his glasses, and in his liquor-muddled mind, came to the conclusion that this fuzzy blob in front of him was trying to drown him. He tried desperately to get away, but couldn't hoist himself out of the deep, claw-footed tub.  

"Logan!  It's me!  Max!" "Calm down!" "Logan...."  Logan grabbed Max by the hair, pulling her down toward the water with the intent on pushing her head under.  He caught himself just in time as her words made their way through the fog in his brain, but the water on the floor caused Max to slip and fall in headfirst.

SPLASH!

Logan looked at Max.  Max looked at Logan. 

"Max, would you mind telling me what's going on?  Why am I sitting naked in your bathtub?"  He sounded like the shock of the impromptu bubble bath had sobered him up a bit.

Max could no longer contain herself.  She burst out laughing, almost choking on the water that was running down her face and into her mouth.  

Logan regarded her with a puzzled look on his face.  The last few hours were a total blank.  Through her laughter, Max choked out how she had found Logan lying in the gutter, dirty and dishevelled.  "And you just decided to take it upon yourself to take me home like some injured animal you found on the street?"  Logan glared at her.

Max's features turned stony. "Fine.  Deal with this yourself.  Goodness knows the great and powerful Eyes Only can't accept help from a friend!"  With that, she climbed out of the tub and stormed out of the bathroom.

"Good going, Cale.  Now look what you've done."  He pondered how he was going to get himself out of the tub and back to his apartment.  He squinted and looked around the rather spacious room.  "Great. Where the heck is my wheelchair?"   This was not looking good.  He really didn't want to call Max back in to help him, but he feared he had no other choice.  With a sigh, he called, "Max!"  No answer.  "MAX!!!"  Still no answer.

"Shit. Now what am I going to do?"  

He looked around again and spotted a chair within reach.  "Ah...good...there's even a towel on it."  He pulled the chair toward the tub and, taking a deep breath, hoisted himself out of the tub and onto it.  Looking down, he was relieved to see that he was still wearing his boxers.  "Ow," he moaned.  The exertion was too much for his head.  He dropped it into his hands and sat there moaning until the throbbing subsided.  "What on earth was I thinking?" he muttered, as the events of the past evening came flooding back to him. "That's the last time I challenge Jane to a drinking contest."

He dried himself off as best he could and called Max one more time.  When she still didn't appear, he figured she had changed and left the apartment.  "I'm certainly in the doghouse now," he thought, with a little smirk.  "I guess I'll have to find my clothes on my own."

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the floor and scooted over to where his clothes were lying in an untidy pile in the corner.  He picked up his sweater and frowned.  It was soaked.  His jeans were in a similar state.  "Crap."  

Hoping that Max really WAS out of the apartment and that Kendra wasn't home, he dragged himself out to the living room and over to Kendra's bedroom, hoping that one of her many "guests" had left something behind.  He was in luck.  In one of her bottom drawers were a Metallica T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants.  He pulled them out, hoping they would fit.  Again, he was in luck...sort of.  The pants seemed to be a decent fit but the T was huge.  "Oh well.  Beggars can't be choosers, I guess."   He put on the T-shirt and dragged himself back to the living room to wait for Max.

He didn't have to wait long before she came storming back in with his rather battered wheelchair.  She stopped when she saw him.  "How..."  

"Max, I'm sorry.  I should never have gotten angry with you.  You were just trying to help."

Max tried to remain angry, but couldn't.  He looked so silly sitting there on the couch in that ridiculous T-shirt, his hair all wet and dishevelled, and his feet bare.  She left the wheelchair and plopped down beside him on the couch.  

"I never took you for a metal head."  He laughed, but winced at the knives shooting through his head.  "Serves you right," Max admonished. 

 Logan looked up sheepishly.  "Think you can drive me home?"  

"Sure thing.  The Aztek's right outside."  Logan wasn't going to ask how she had retrieved it, but he thought, "I couldn't have gotten far if she found it that easily!"

She brought his wheelchair over to him so he could transfer, then went in search of a pair of socks he could borrow.

They drove the short distance to the penthouse in companionable silence.

~FIN~


End file.
